Sunday, July 13, 2014

The Heart's Home


The scent of green apples
screams like wind in a child's ears,
who runs through the storm,
Awe-struck, unafraid.
Whispers of the river
echo in the night,
resplendent with a million stars and more;
Far-away in the pine-struck forest,
crickets continue with their eternal racket;
Dew continues to fall
and the grass trembles
with cold and pleasure,
Indistinguishable,
its distinctive green
brightened by the occasional light;
A soft sob erupts from somewhere deep,
and threatens to break the peace
of the night;
But it is only another nightmare:
The night moves on
to its next demise.

© Geetakshi Arora

July 13, 2014

1 comment:

  1. the night moves on to it's next demise - a brilliant line, if I must say! Love how you evolved as a poetess Geetakshi, there are so many subtle layers to your poetry off late that I find it of immense pleasure to read your verses

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